Briefs Family Vacation
by undoubtedlyamity
Summary: Yet another one of Bulma Briefs' birthdays will be spent on a cruise ship. Only, it's not exactly... exclusive. With three Saiyans to look after, it's going to be one wild vacation, and Bulma is going to need a lot more than a few drinks.


Bulma Briefs' birthday bash would have been a giant success if not for Beerus the Destroyer's (or rather Beerus the Party Crasher) impromptu and most certainly unwelcomed appearance. Everything had started out perfectly that day; while the ship did not actually belong to her, Bulma had paid the cruise line to paint the words 'Princess Bulma' in big pink letters on the bow and on the sides. It wasn't that pretentious. She _had_ married a prince, after all.

She supposed that she should've just been glad that nobody was harmed too badly (she _did_ have a massive migraine after that abnormal purple cat smacked her right in the kisser; Bulma was still pissy about that) or worse, killed, but the fact that her birthday party was less than special bothered her for some time afterward.

Three years passed, and when Bulma mentioned her wish of spending another birthday aboard a cruise ship, Vegeta and Trunks had very mixed feelings. Vegeta, Mister-High-And-Mighty himself, told his wife that under no circumstances did he want to spend another whole day with those mediocre Z-Fighters and their families when he could be training.

Trunks was a bit more mild; He was just afraid that Beerus-sama would return. He also wanted Goten to come along.

However, both Briefs men were sorely regretting ever opening their mouths after being forced to listen to Bulma rant and rave about how her birthday party _three years ago_ was a disaster, and how all she wanted to do was spend time with her family. That meant no friends. No Goten.

Vegeta was pacified, at least. Trunks wasn't.

 **page break**

"Trunks, get out your passport and hand your father his please."

Finally, the day had come to board the ocean liner. So far Bulma was doing a marvelous job of keeping her cool after the hectic morning she'd had. While she had been up bright and early, packed and ready to leave, Trunks was refusing to leave the comfort of his bed, Vegeta was being difficult as always, and three-year-old Bra was acting up. Being the capable and multitasking super-mother, Bulma somehow managed to leave on time so as not to miss boarding time.

"I don't know why we had to leave so early, Mom," Trunks complained, adding emphasis to his statement by yawning. "If we missed sail away we could've just flown on."

"First of all, kiddo, I got you up at nine thirty, which isn't early by any means-" Trunks snorted, however, Bulma ignored him and continued, "And we're not flying on board when we have plenty of time to board like normal people, especially with all of the bags we packed. We have a whole two weeks to make ourselves look like weirdos."

"Photo I.D. and sea pass card in hand please," a gangway crew member shouted for all to hear. The lower deck of the ship was becoming more crowded by the minute. Bulma arranged her passport and sea pass in hand after distributing both forms of identification to each of her family members.

"I want," Bra whined, making grabby hands for her father's drivers license. It was something he was not proud to have obtained over the course of this earthly dwelling. To be quite honest, as days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months and months turned into years, Vegeta was feeling as if he were becoming more and more human by the minute. Staring at the piece of plastic in his hand only made him grumpier than he already was.

"No, baby, Daddy needs that right now," Bulma said as she ushered her family further up the line.

Bra continued to whine, however, and squirm and act the very opposite of how a well rested and behaved child would. Her performance was quickly gathering the attention of onlookers around them and Bulma wanted nothing more than to drop both of her younglings at the kids club, down a shot or two, and hit the hay for a couple of hours.

After having quite enough of his daughter's crying, Vegeta ended up giving in to her demands and handed her the license she seemed to want so desperately. It shut her up in the meantime... until he had to take it back to actually board the ship.

 **page break**

"Alright, so we made it!"

Trunks glanced around the suite his mother had purchased for the duration of their stay. It was magnificent; three levels high, four giant flatscreen TVs, a decent sized kitchen, and a grand piano right in the living room. The eleven-year-old had seen far better, for sure, but it was nonetheless still impressive.

His one and only complaint was over the fact that he had to share a bedroom with his sister. Despite the size of the suite, there were only two bedrooms, and there was no argument that one went to Bulma and Vegeta. Usually, Trunks wouldn't have really minded the circumstances, but Bra wasn't exactly acting like the most desirable roommate today. If this kept up throughout the rest of the trip, Trunks would be ready to drown himself. Or his sister.

"Where are our things, woman?" Vegeta demanded, dark irises glancing around the suite.

"Probably still on land," Bulma said, relieving her husband of their restless daughter. "They won't bring aboard bags until right before we pull away. They'll most likely be here tonight."

"I'm starving," Trunks groaned. Bulma glanced at the other two Saiyans in the room who simultaneously bobbed their heads in agreement.

"Okay, so we'll head up to the buffet and grab a bite. I already sent an e-mail to the head chef warning him about all three of your appetites, so go crazy."

 **page break**

"Vegeta, I know I told you to go crazy but please, for the love of Kami, do not start a fight with anybody. If they run out of anything on the trays, the chefs can always replace it."

Vegeta grunted, indignant. "Anyone I 'start a fight with' usually deserves it." One look from his wife, however, made him change his tune. He huffed. "Fine."

Between the concoction of scents and the array of foods displayed all through the buffet, Trunks' mouth was practically a waterfall of drool. He had heard his mother: don't start a fight with anybody. He was capable of controlling himself pretty well in that department, unlike his father, however, there was a chance that he would quite literally take the words 'go crazy' to heart. Considering he hadn't eaten since way earlier that morning, boy, was he aching to tear apart the buffet.

"Trunks," his mother's voice tore him away to reality. "I need you to take Bra and help her get her food."

Trunks groaned. "Why me?"

"Because I said so, young man, now take your sister. Look, she even _wants_ to come to you." Bulma wasn't lying. Bra, at the mention of her dear sibling, had perked up and started to lean towards the eleven-year-old with outstretched arms and those signature grabby hands. Trunks knew it'd be a dire mistake to decline; his mother would start shouting and his father would kick his behind if Bra started crying again.

Begrudgingly, he took his sister into his arms. "Come on. squirt, let's go."

"Don't call me squirt."

 **page break**

"You got it, Bra?"

From behind an enormous plate of food, two identical pigtails could be seen swishing back and forth on either side. Incredulous onlookers stared in amazement, watching as this tiny girl somehow managed to avoid spilling even a single grain of rice, and wondering how on earth she planned to consume it all.

"I got it!" Bra called back with a strained, but determined voice.

Trunks glanced back. His own plate was remarkably larger than his and his sister's combined yet he handled it with ease. He didn't seem to notice the audience they'd acquired as he stood his ground, waiting for Bra to waddle close enough in order for him to snatch her plate. The last thing anybody needed was a giant mess all over the floor.

"I said I got it," Bra growled stubbornly, planting her hands on her hips.

"I know, I'm just helping," Trunks said, balancing both weighted plates that rested on both his palms.

"Eating light today, huh, kiddos?" Bulma chortled as her children approached the table. Vegeta had come back from the buffet, the evidence of that spread all over the table. Empty bowls, leftover bones were strewn about, bits and piece of food _everywhere_. The prince had acquired a bigger audience than his children had.

"Yeah right," Trunks scoffed, taking a seat beside Bulma. "This couldn't even be classified as a midnight snack for me."

"Me too!" Bra chirped, hopping onto a chair between her parents. "Gimme my food, Trunksie~"

Trunks grimaced but obeyed his sister's wishes. "I hate when she calls me that," he muttered.

He could've sworn he heard his father snort, but Bulma stole his attention. "It's just a term of endearment, sweetie. She loves you!"

"I wuv woo!" Bra, with a mouth full of rice, reiterated as best she could in a much more cheerful tone.

"Thanks, Bra. I love me, too."

It only took a minimum of five minutes for all three aliens, hybrids included, to clean their plates. Bulma sat contently with her small portion, which she still was not finished with, and a glass of lemonade off to the side. By the time her family came back with seconds and thirds, nearly every tray in the buffet was rendered empty, leaving the patrons struggling between being annoyed and astounded.

Bulma only sighed. She had a feeling that she'd be paying for a lot of extra food costs.

 **page break**

"I don't know why the hell you didn't get us our own table, woman." Vegeta grumbled just loudly enough for his wife beside him to hear. From across the dining table that seat ten, the prince of Saiyans glowered in the direction of six people who occupied the remaining seats. Two couples, one old and one young. The young couple had two children who appeared to be around the same age as Bra and Trunks.

Bulma promptly elbowed her husband right in the ribs, though it had no effect on him. "You're too antisocial, Vegeta. Lighten up. And for goodness' sake, will you quit frowning?"

"Grumpy Papa?" Bra chirped, her blue oculars locking on her father.

"Always, dear," Bulma giggled. So did Bra. "Just like the dwarf."

Trunks dared to chortle, but immediately received a stare that promised death. Vegeta grunted, giving their tablemates one last glance before returning his attention to his family.

"All of these people look like id-"

"So, where are you folks from?"

Four pairs of eyes gazed down to the end of the table to find that everyone who _wasn't_ a Briefs staring back at them with sunny, smiling faces. The one who had interrupted Vegeta was a short, stocky old man with thin hair. His wife, assumingly sitting beside him, was a plump woman with short, grey, curly hair and a face covered in wrinkles.

"West City," Bulma answered, mirroring their smiles. "How about you guys?"

"East City!" the plump woman exclaimed, chuckling. "Looks like we're neighbors, huh? My name is Agnes and this is my husband Joe."

The couple beside Agnes and Joe finally spoke up. "My name is Joan, this is my husband Mike, and our children, Dipper and Sasha."

"Nice to meet you all. My name's Bulma, this is my husband Vegeta-" Bulma motioned to each of her family as she introduced them, but particularly gave Vegeta a meaningful stare similar to the one he shot Trunks; promised death if he acted up, but somehow she did it with a smile. "And these are our children, Trunks and Bra."

"Your names are _Trunks_ and _Bra_?" the boy beside Bra snickered. Trunks leaned forward to get a good look at the kid; there was no way he was much older than Trunks was. Maybe twelve or thirteen. He had a very obnoxious air about him, and instantly Trunks could tell that they were not going to get along.

"What of it?" Trunks sniffed. "What's _your_ name, loser?"

"Dipper."

Trunks and Bra instantly exchanged looks. "Sounds like _diaper_ ," Bra laughed.

Heat suddenly rushed to Dipper's face. Trunks realized he was the type who couldn't take it yet dished it out. "It doesn't sound anything like diaper, you little doofus! What kinda name is _Bra_ anyway? Do you have a cousin named _Underwear_?" Dipper cackled, and Bra glowered.

Vegeta, who'd been caught and trapped in a conversation with the other adults at the table, tuned into what the children were doing. Neither Trunks nor Bra noticed as Trunks slowly leaned over his sister to get in the other boy's face.

"Don't make fun of my little sister, buttface, that's _my_ job."

Soon, Bulma too caught ear. "Trunks," she warned, putting a hand on his shoulder.

While his parents seemed to pay no mind as they carried on their conversation with the older folks, Dipper pushed his nose up with his finger and began to make faces at the siblings, and he carried this on for the rest of the night.

Dinner was served in three courses, and Bulma spent it all trying to persuade her daughter into eating when she adamantly refused everything that was put on her plate.

"Look, sweetie, Trunks is eating his food," Bulma whined, pointing to her eldest. Trunks had actually cleared his plate four times during the main course. "Don't you want to be big and strong like him?"

Bra, bratty from her lack of rest, shoved her mother's hand away from her mouth with such force that Bulma nearly fell out of her chair. She must've realized what she'd done, because for a split second she appeared to be somewhat remorseful, but her pretty features contorted right back into a scowl as fast as it disappeared.

That's how she ended up right in the arms of her father.

"Eat," Vegeta ordered her.

There was a big difference between Bra and Trunks, however. Trunks, if he were ordered to eat by his father, would've done exactly as he was told exactly _when_ he was told to do it, lest he face the wrath of the Saiyan prince. Bra, on the other hand, was treated in an entirely different way, and sometimes Trunks wondered if Vegeta was brain washed. Bra could be utterly fearless when it came to defying her father.

The four-year-old's eyes narrowed, and as she stared into Vegeta's eyes without the tiniest bit of reluctance, she said, "No."

 **page break**

"I don't get it," Trunks said, storming into the kitchen. " _I_ tell Papa no, and I get the stuffing beat out of me. _She_ tells Papa no, and all Bra gets is a time-out!"

"You know your father would never spank Bra, Trunks," Bulma said. After hauling off a wailing four-year-old from dinner, Vegeta locked her in the room she shared with Trunks and went to watch TV in the living room. Bulma stalked off to the kitchen to make her daughter some eggs as she still hadn't eaten anything since lunch.

Trunks hopped atop the glass table, frowning to himself and contemplating wallowing in self-pity. "It's not fair."

"Consider it a compliment, dear," his mother said, and when Trunks fixed her with a look of confusion, Bulma explained further. "I realize that your father's parenting isn't always conventional; perhaps it was on Planet Vegeta, though. When your father disciplines you, he knows you can handle it. When he disciplines your sister, he knows she _can't_ handle it."

Trunks' purple eyebrows furrowed, the gears turning in his mind. "So... what you're saying is that he thinks I'm tougher and stronger and overall better than Bra?"

Bulma's smile hardened. "Yeah, sure." Maybe a good parent would've told their son that there was no 'better child' and that everyone was loved the same. But if this prevented her eldest from going on another tangent, then this was the way to go. She'd let her children work it out themselves when Trunks would inevitably break the news to his little sister.

Better yet, she'd let Vegeta handle it.


End file.
